My Last Duty
by silver-nightstorm
Summary: Am I going to die today? Am I going to die without fulfilling my last duty to Dumbledore? I did not want to die this way. Not this soon, not now, not when there actually is a light at the end of the tunnel... I want to live! Mild language.


Written for A Sirius Crush on Moony's "I'm about to die!" competition on HPFC. Enjoy~

**My Last Duty**

**By silver-nightstorm**

**Summary:** Am I going to die today? Am I going to die without fulfilling my last duty to Dumbledore? _I did not want to die this way_. Not this soon, not _now_, not when there actually is a light at the end of the tunnel. I never thought I'd make it this far, and now that I'm here... _I want to live_!

XX

I stand in front of him, watching him toy with Albus' wand. My fists are clenched in the deep pockets of my robes, my right hand gripping my wand in a chokehold that could - with the slightest jolt – break it. My emotions are carefully concealed behind my subtle Occlumency walls.

Although Riddle's face was smooth and serene, the repetitive twinges that shoot up my left forearm cue me in on his slowly building anger. Raising my voice slightly, I took my first risk - speaking.

"... my Lord, their resistance is crumbling—"

"—And it is doing so without your help."

I fault the strong, overwhelming urge to shudder at the rasping sound of his cold, high-pitched voice. Gathering together my feelings of disgust, I lock them in a box and bury them deep in my subconscious. _He_ is still speaking.

"Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there... almost."

Riddle's voice is quiet, but the calmness of his face contrasts darkly with the venom laced in his words. I eye the large python lazily rotating in the suspended cage behind him and ignore the voice screaming at me to run. _I have a job to do_. And I _must _do it.

The dangerous tilt in his voice is directed towards _me_. I resort to begging.

"Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find him, my Lord. Please."

I stride across the room towards him, passing a precarious stack of crates and odd nick-knacks. As I approach Voldemort, he abruptly stands up.

"I have a problem, Severus."

Something monumental is coming; I can feel it in the air. I can feel it in the decidedly predatory glance my _Master_ gives me. Am I going to die today? Am I going to die without fulfilling my last duty to Dumbledore? _I did not want to die this way_. Not this soon, not _now_, not when there actually is a light at the end of the tunnel. I never thought I'd make it this far, and now that I'm here... _I want to live_!

"My Lord?" I venture cautiously. I can't mess up now, I can't fail now.

He twirls the wand in his hands, the dim light in the shack glinting off of the white band on the bottom of the wand. He holds it precisely, and with the slightest provocation it will be pointed at me.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"

My mind works in overdrive as I try to figure why he would mention this to_ me_. Could he possibly believe... ? No. That can't be it. It _must be something else_.

As Nagini hisses in her floating cage, I fight to keep my expression calm and my voice blank. "My—my Lord?" I say, "I do not understand. You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."

"No," he says. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."

His voice remains calm, but I can feel his mounting anger clearly through the mark. The damned brand on my arm itches and burns as his fury becomes more and more pronounced and directed.

"No difference," he repeats.

I can sense the danger directed towards me. He will kill me now, I am sure of it. Or he will try. I will fight, dammit! I. Will. Fight. My eyes unconsciously flit towards the monstrous snake. I can't fight against _that_.

He starts to prowl the room, continuing to speak in the same falsely soothing voice. "I have thought long and hard, Severus… Do you know why I have called you back from battle?"

My eyes are still glued on the snake as I try to calculate my odds for survival. "No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter." Say yes. _Please_.

"You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."

I find myself stumbling over my words, a desperate air entering my voice. I'm not sure if he had heard it yet… but I fix my eyes upon him and continue. "But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by one other than yourself—"

He cuts me off. "My instructions to my Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends—the more, the better—but do not kill him.

"But it is of you that I wish to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable.

Could he possibly know? My mind starts to jump to hasty conclusions. Deep down inside, I _know_ that he cannot possibly have figured my true loyalties. But… I find myself worrying nonetheless. What if?

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him," I scramble. "But—let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can—"

"I have told you, no!" With that shout, my fate is sealed. He didn't need to scream, but his impatience was pouring out of him. His expression was no longer calm. His expression was… quite possibly… slightly… fearful?

"My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"

Despite my dire situation, I very much wanted to grin widely, grin like I hadn't done since my fourth year. I wanted to dance a jig, right in the middle of the shack. I wanted to run back to the castle, shoot fireworks in the sky, and hug Minerva until she hexed my bits off for choking her.

The Dark Lord was actually… _afraid_. There was a chance! There was more than a chance! Dumbledore, the old fool, he _actually knew what he was doing_! If Voldemort truly was concerned, Potter could beat him. _Potter could beat him_. And I could live to see it.

Fighting to keep my expression neutral, I speak again. "My Lord, there can be no question, surely—?"

"—but there _is_ a question, Severus. There is."

I push Voldemort's verbal musings out of my direct train of thought, answering him robotically, as I rejoice in my head. It was almost over. He was actually afraid. As he speaks about wands, and their magic, I lull myself into a false sense of security once more. His next few sentences destroy my sense of peace.

"I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."

I can feel the blood drain out of my face as my heart almost stops beating then and there. So this is why he has called me. This is why I'm here right now. Most loyal servant, my arse.

"My Lord—let me go to the boy—"

"All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here wondering, wondering why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner… and I think I have the answer."

No. No. NO. NO! Stop. This can't be it. You are wrong. Don't you see? You damned snake! You. Are. Wrong! This… this cannot be true! Dumbledore… Dumbledore _must_ have seen this coming! He must have _planned_ for it! This… I'M NOT GOING TO DIE NOW! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! _NO_!

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen."

No. No, this can't be. I am dreaming. In a moment, I will wake up, run to the Headmaster's office, and Albus will offer me lemon drops and I will _chuck_ them at his head like I always do because Albus _isn't dead, I'm not here right now, and I won't die_!

But…

"My Lord—" I grip my wand tighter. Just in case.

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner," No, "You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."

Don't call me by my name, you _filthy snake_!

"My Lord!" I throw caution to the wind, and pull my wand from my robes. I raise it as he speaks again.

"It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

He swipes the wand through the air in front of me, and for a moment, for a breathtaking, freeing, _wonderful_ moment, I think I'm free. And then, then I notice it. The cage. It is floating through the air, floating towards _me_.

I yell. Some one has to hear me! … Even if they hear me, who will save me? Who will…

It covers me and I am trapped, looking the snake in the eye. And then, then I hear a horrid hissing, sputtering, from _his_ mouth. I don't need to speak the language to know what the word means. I can feel it in my bones.

I scream. Loudly. High pitched. _Someone has to hear me_! Someone has to come save me! I fight, pushing the cage, trying to pry it off of my body. I shove at it to no avail, and the snake wraps itself around me. Its coils of scaly skin make me shudder as the rest of the blood drains from my face.

A pain. A searing pain at my neck. I look down to meet its eyes once more. Where is my wand? Why can't I fight it? I'm a wizard, dammit! I can _fight_ this thing! My wand…

It's still in my hand. My hand… my—Merlin, _I can't move my hand_! It's…. it's…

My knees give way and I fall to the floor. _His _cold voice pierces my ears. "I regret it." Suddenly, the cage is gone, and _he_ is gone as well. But I know it's too late. I know, deep inside of me, that I cannot come back from this, no matter how many bezoars I eat, no matter how many blood replenishing potions I take. I know that… that this is the end.

But I don't want to believe it.

I still try. I move my left hand—I can still move that one, thank Circe—to my neck. I fight, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of my body. I try to keep my life inside me, but…

There is a disturbance in the air in front of me, and suddenly, the invisibility cloak appears, and Potter is standing right there. Right in front of me. My eyes widen. I try to speak. I must tell him. At the very least… at the very least I can fulfill my last duty to Dumbledore. After all he did for me; it is the least I can do. I fight to speak.

Potter bends down to look at me, and I seize his robes, my hand still covered in blood. The wound at my neck flows freely now, without the slight barrier of my hand. I don't have much time.

A gurgling noise comes from my throat – gone is the voice that makes first years cry and sixth years tremble. I shudder at the wretched noise. "Take… it… Take… it…"

And for the first time in seventeen years, I let go. I open the box with my dearest memories and I let them go. I feel them flow out of me, the silvery-blue substance leaking from my mouth and my ears and my eyes. I give them away, my most precious treasures, I give them to Potter. He looks at me blankly.

A vial is thrust into his hands. The Granger girl. Little know-it-all. Could have been a wonderful Potions Mistress. I might have taken her as my own apprentice, if she accepted. She probably would; she hungered for knowledge. She, unlike the rest of the dunderheads, could have prospered. No. She _will_ prosper. She'll survive. She won't just survive, she'll _flourish_. As will… _Weasley_ and _Potter_. Because it's not over for them. Not yet. I _will save them yet_. I promised Dumbledore, I promised _her_. I can't let them down.

The flask is filled and I try to firm my grip on Potter's… _Harry's_… robes. I cannot. My left hand is going numb as well. I try to pull him closer; I try to turn his body to look at his eyes, green eyes that are glued – horrified – to my wound. I lack the strength. I try, once more, to speak.

"Look… at… me…"

His green eyes meet mine, and… I don't see his mother. I don't see his father. I just see… him. Harry James Potter. Not James Potter, not Lily Potter née Evans. Just… a boy. A boy I have just sentenced to death. My hand thuds to the floor.

I'm sorry, Lily. Could… could you ever forgive me?

**XX**

Dialogue taken directly from HP7. Snape's thoughts are all mine (and, well, _his_).


End file.
